Always By Your Side
by PichuInTheSky
Summary: Short snapshots of Stands just helping out their masters in their daily lives.
1. Sharing the Workload

_Florida, United States, 1994_

In a maritime research facility near the eastern coast, Kujo Jotaro stands by the edge of the dolphins' pool, clipboard and reference papers balanced carefully in arms. From underneath the brim of his omnipresent hat, his eyes dart tirelessly to and fro with the shrewdness of a dedicated marine biologist- which, of course, he is, among other things- skimming over each the newly arrived specimens in the pool and then back to his clipboard; taking note of behaviours, communication, swimming patterns, and so on, without pause or break. Apart from a few minor aberrations, he's satisfied with most of the results- though it's rather hard to tell, given his stoic nature.

Carefully re-adjusting his files, Jotaro squats carefully by the side of the pool and outstretches an arm to the nearest specimen to test for wariness. The dolphin jitters instantly under his touch, startling him. He's too rough, he realises; but before he can think to do anything about it, he feels his Stand emerge without preamble, Star Platinum's translucent hand overlapping his own.

The Stand's touch is precise as ever, yet gentle, and the dolphin relaxes under it, before swimming away. Jotaro'a shoulders relax slightly in relief, and he mentally thanks his Stand's rapid instincts. Somewhere beside him, he feels Star Platinum smile.

* * *

 _Naples, Italy, 2002_

In the vast, ornate office of the mafia family Passione, Don Giorno Giovanna lets out a deep, exhausted sigh, slumping forward in his chair as his eyes gaze tiredly over the stacks upon stacks of paper littering the desk before him. Even after eleven straight hours of working, the pile doesn't seem to be decreasing in the slightest. Resisting the urge to fling them all in the nearest incinerator, the sixteen-year-old gangstar instead settles for a frustrated groan, slender fingers digging into mussed golden hair in an effort to quell a raging headache.

Despite what his moody disposition might suggest, things have actually been going quite smoothly for Passione as of late. After a few little... _nuisances_ , the dons of the other major families in Naples have finally consented (for the most part) to make an agreement of non-violence with Passione, with certain conditions. Negotiations over said conditions are going quite fine as well.

It's just getting through all the damn _paperwork_ that's the problem.

Giorno leans back in the tall, high-backed desk chair, deciding to rest his eyes from the heinous torture of fine text for but a few precious moments. _Surely a quick break won't hurt. After all, it wouldn't do if I were to damage my eyesight._

A soft breeze tickles his ear as his eyes stutter shut. _How nice of Mista to have propped one of the windows open earlier..._

A loud rustle sounds, and Giorno's eyes snap open, azure orbs filled with alarm as he realises that the seemingly innocent little breeze has managed to send a dozen or so of his previously-neatly-sorted papers flying into the air. Before a single sheet can touch the floor, though, the air is suddenly instead filled with little white butterflies.

Giorno blinks, momentarily mystified, before he acknowledges the presence of Gold Experience beside him. The Stand solemnly directs the 'butterflies' to land on their respective paper stacks before transforming them back. A flash and a shimmer, and the Stand is gone once more.

For a moment, Giorno is half-stunned, half-relieved. Then, when his headache decides to return with a vengeance, and he decides that he's done working for the day.


	2. On Nights Like These

_How can you_

 _see into my eyes_

 _like open doors?_

 _Leading you_

 _down into my core_

 _where I've become so numb..._

-Evanescence ("Bring me to life")

* * *

 _Green Dolphin St. Prison, Florida, 2011_

One thing that all the inmates of GrDSt. Prison learn by heart very quickly is this- never show weakness.

Showing weakness meant vulnerability. Showing weakness meant someone could take advantage of you. And if that happened, you could very easily find yourself trapped in a relentless cycle of pain, hunger, and misery for many long months to come.

But yet, even given this common knowledge, things were different at night; when the stone cell walls seemed to close in around your head, the resounding footsteps of guards patrolling by pounding a cacophony into your ears, as you lie on your bunk in the darkness, trying to deny the existence of the cell bars throwing shadows across your face. On nights like these, in the hazy, twisted realm of sleep, no one could deny their weaknesses.

Nights like these find Kujo Jolyne curled up in her bunk, shivering, not just from cold (though, her roommate _does_ tend to be a blanket hog at times), but from the chilling ache deep inside her; the ache that reminds her how badly misses her mother, that her father is dying because of her, that she isn't meant to _be_ here in the first place. On these nights Stone Free, feeling her pain as well, emerges and unravels its body to its fullest extent, weaving the multitude of strings into a quilt and draping itself over her quaking body in an effort to provide some form of comfort.

Nights like these find Hermes Costello tossing and turning in her bunk, brow furrowed in pain and frustration as ghostly images of her sister's murder flicker through her mind. Kiss hovers dutifully above her, ready to wake her when the tears begin.

Nights like these find a sleepless Weather Report using his namesake to create thick, almost suffocating clouds of fog and letting the mist curl around him in a cocoon-like embrace; before watching it gradually disperse until no wisps remain, as though hoping that the foggy cloud within his mind obscuring his memories will do the same.

Nights like these find Narciso Anasui wide awake, restless and twitchy, vainly trying to resist the urge to disassemble something. To stop him from dissecting one of the other inmates, Diver Down invents little games to amuse him, like submerging itself in the surface of the bunk and creating wrinkles in the mattress, blanket and pillowcase, which it knows Anasui, a perfectionist at heart, will instinctively try to smoothen out. Other times, when it's run out of other creative ways to keep its master occupied, the Stand just resorts to shadow puppets.

Nights like these find Emporio Alnino tightly curled up on the cushioned piano bench in the vast emptiness of his ghost room, struggling fitfully to sleep, eyes reddened with a strain characteristic of a lifelong insomniac. On nights like these, Burning Down the House manipulates the ghost piano into playing a lullaby, the notes echoing hauntingly as they gradually lull the broken, lonely boy into sleep.


	3. Who Knew Fate Had a Sense of Humour?

**NOTE: This one-shot is technically more of a reflection rather than a drabble, but it's Stand-related, so if that's what you came here for, then by all means, read on.**

 **I suppose you could say I wrote it in anticipation of Part 4.**

* * *

 _You are the piece of me_

 _I wish I didn't need_

 _chasing relentlessly_

 _still fight, and I don't know why_

-"Clarity" (Zedd)

* * *

Morioh, Japan, 2000

Higashikata Josuke has had his Stand for as long as he can remember. Ever since he was little, he's always been accompanied by his ghostly companion; never fully questioning its existence, nature, or why no one could ever see it but him. He just accepted it, and continued on like the happy child he was.

It was sometime after his fourth birthday that he discovered its ability. Josuke remembers it clearly: he'd been playing with his toys on the rug, when one of his favourite action figures' arms had come off in his hand. Sensing his dismay, the Stand automatically popped out; and upon being shown the mangled toy by the teary child, took the figurine from him and handed it back a second later with the missing limb fully reattached. It was as though it'd never been broken.

It seems almost laughable to him now, that at the time he'd thought of his Stand's ability as nothing more than a convenience. But now he understands, more than ever, why Fate chose to give him this ability.

Now, after having healed more wounds, lacerations, and horrific injuries he ever wanted to see, after seeing his friends and family badly hurt or dying or worse, after fighting battle after battle against people who threaten to rip his entire life apart at the seams and put his loved ones at risk, he understands. His ability to heal, to restore and repair, is a constant reminder of all that he needs to protect. Most of all, it has shown him that nothing is unbreakable, and that the things he cares about are always the most fragile of all.

Josuke doesn't fully appreciate the irony of his ability until a while after Kira's defeat. And when he does, he realises how what he once thought to be a convenient trick was actually his greatest burden.

Isn't Fate artistic?

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Okay, so let me explain myself.**

 **So, Josuke had a pretty peaceful life. Nice mom, nice house, nice town, nice friends, yadda yadda. Oh, and not to mention the ability to fix and restore stuff.**

 **When suddenly- BAM! Serial killers! Assassins! Ghosts! Enemy Stands! Blood! And a whole lot of other things he never asked for. Good think he has the power or healing, right? RIGHT?**

 **I've always though of Josuke as the JoJo who has too much to protect, and too much to lose. Funny how Fate gives him Crazy Diamond's ability as a sort of consolation, like "hey, so you and your friends and family will all constantly have to fight for your lives against supernatural murderers but hey, don't worry, you can FIX IT!"**

 **So if you didn't understand what I was trying to do here with Fate being ironic, then there it is. If you don't agree, the comments section is below, so let me know.**


	4. Move Along

_When all you got to keep is strong_

 _Move along, move along, like I know you do_

 _And even when your hope is gone_

 _Move along, move along, just to make it through_

\- "Move Along" (The All-American Rejects)

* * *

Johnny Joestar really isn't sure what to make of his new companion.

During the Steel Ball Run, he'd never really put much thought into his stand- hell, he'd never had the _time_ , considering that he'd been more concerned about he and Gyro were going to make it out of each stage alive. At the time, he really didn't think of it as more than just an ability. A way to refine and develop his Spin techniques. An unorthodox power boost. A by-product of the Corpse Parts, maybe.

Now, months later, after all the chaos and trauma that had been the Steel Ball Run had somewhat settled down a bit, he's finally able to come to terms with his new spiritual counterpart.

Or, at least, he's _trying_ to.

Ever since he'd come to Japan some time ago, he'd been bringing out Tusk more often, sometimes trying to communicate with it. Tusk, however, never speaks. It usually just hovers quietly at Johnny's side, its hooded eyes focused attentively on its user's face as he speaks, as though clinging to every word. But it never offers a response. Honestly, Tusk creeps Johnny out at times.

Still, despite his apprehensions towards the spectre, there are times when Johnny feels that Tusk really _is_ a part of him. On days when the loss of Gyro is eating him up inside, or the events of the race keep him up at night, Tusk is always there to reach out to him, making soft whirring noises to soothe him. The sound, though faint, reminds him of Gyro's steel balls. It's times like these that he realises that Tusk has _feelings;_ _his_ feelings. That it has shared all of his wounds, his pain, his fear, his hope, his heartbreak-

That maybe, just maybe, it _cared_ for Gyro Zeppeli with every bit of passion that he did.

And though it may have been Gyro who got him to take his first steps, Johnny owes it to his Stand for helping him to keep moving forward.


	5. From the Inside

_It's a thief in the night, to come and grab you_

 _It can creep up inside you, and consume you_

 _A disease of the mind, it can control you_

 _It's too close for comfort_

\- "Disturbia", Rihanna

* * *

 _Japan, 1987_

It started as no more than a faint, whispery touch, brushing briefly and ever-so-softly over the back of her neck and shoulders from time to time, an almost-ghostly sensation. Occasional at first, but slowly becoming more and more frequent, with the touches themselves becoming increasingly tendril-like, curling and unfurling hauntingly down her back.

If such sensations had happened to any other woman fear and suspicion would have been the most rational response. But the woman in question was quite unlike many others; the family she came from even more so.

A kind, caring, cheery- albeit rather oblivious- soul, Holly Joestar-Kujo had never been one for paranoia. Initially, she'd brushed off the odd sensations, assuming them to be stray wafts of breeze or loose hairs from her ponytail brushing her shoulders, before going on with her normal business of looking after the house and fondly fussing over her teenaged son. To Holly, Jotaro always came first and foremost before anything else, and so, she happily paid no attention whatsoever to the odd little sensations.

It wasn't until the sensations became more frequent, as well as including burning headaches, aching limbs, and abrupt losses of breath, that she started to realise that something was definitely wrong with her. The peculiar prickling sensations began to spread from her shoulders down to her back, and with them came random spells of lightheadedness and feverishness.

(Strangely, when the headaches were really terrible, Holly sometimes thought she detected the faintest traces of sharp, acidic scent that reminded her of the herb garden her mother had used to keep when she was a child.)

There were times when she would find herself lying wide awake in her room in the middle of the night, a constricted feeling in her chest making it difficult to breathe, doing her best to keep her shallow gasps from waking her son.

Because in the end, that was all it was really about, for Holly- Jotaro's well-being, not hers. The last thing she wanted in all the world was for her precious child to be hurt because of her. What mattered the most was that Jotaro was well-looked-after. And she certainly couldn't make sure of _that_ if she gave in to some mystery illness, now could she?

Such was Holly's logic; her incentive for going on with her business as usual, despite her strange condition slowly consuming her health bit by bit.

From another outlook, Holly's choice to ignore her gradual deterioration, and her reasons for doing so, might seem incredibly simplistic, not to mention stupid. After all, why would _anyone_ blatantly _ignore_ the symptoms of their own increasingly fatal condition, knowing it was killing them day by day? Why not seek help, or tell someone?

Perhaps it had been because Holly knew, deep down, that her condition could not be treated. Or, perhaps, she simply didn't want to distress anyone, least of all her son. But for whatever reason, Holly Joestar-Kujo ignored the invisible vines creeping along her body for the time being, simply content with being able to tend to her family's needs.

* * *

A.N.: Originally, this 'chapter' was only going to have a ficlet about Holly, but somewhere along the way a Jotaro one also snuck its way in.

I blame Linkin Park.

* * *

 _It's like I'm paranoid, lookin' over my back_

 _It's like a whirlwind, inside of my head_

 _It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within_

 _It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin_

\- "Papercut", Linkin Park

* * *

 _Japan, 1987_

Something was different. That, he was certain of. What it was, Jotaro couldn't be sure.

Though it wasn't as though he had any time to think about it in the current circumstances; said circumstances happening to involve fending off a half-dozen street punks. Fully armed, no less; save actual firearms.

Honestly, Jotaro couldn't even remember what the hell they were after him for. Friends of the snarky punk he'd taught a lesson to the week before? Or maybe allies of the gang whose territory he'd crossed last month? Hell, for all he knew, they might've just randomly picked a fight with him because they didn't like the way he _looked_.

Whatever. It was all the same to him.

"Gimme a break..." he muttered bitterly under his breath as he spotted one of the punks out of the corner of his eye, clearly trying to surprise his opponent by coming at him from behind. Sadly for the thug, his opponent happened to be Kujo Jotaro, and only got a fist in the eye for his troubles, falling backwards to the alley floor with a cry of pain.

This in itself didn't trouble Jotaro. What _did_ unsettle him was that the street thugs' shouts and cries when he fought them- instead of just making him feel sated, in a resigned sort of way- almost seemed to _excite_ him, making his heart pound faster in his chest and adrenaline pulse hotly through his veins. It was almost as though something within him _craved_ the violence- which was unusual, as he normally couldn't wait for pointless fights like these to just be over with already.

Leaving the downed thug to writhe on the pavement, Jotaro frowned and pressed two fingers to his forehead. There was no sign of a temperature, although for the last couple of weeks, there had been a low buzzing, or a humming, reverberating in his ears, making him feel like his entire skull was vibrating. Perhaps a bit of fever-

Jotaro's train of thought was very abruptly cut off one of the thugs he thought he'd knocked out came at him with a sai, aiming for his chest. With an grunt of surprise at the sudden attack and anger ( _Gimme a fuckin' break, can't these bastards just stay down?_ ), he raised his arms to protect himself, but the point of the sai still managed to tear his sleeve open and cut his arm. The wound was shallow, but the damage was done.

The low buzzing sound in Jotaro's exploded into a deafening roar that filled his ears and shook his very bones. It took a few moments for him to realise that, shockingly, the rage-filled scream had come from his own mouth. Yet it didn't sound like him.

Jotaro couldn't tell what was going on with him. It was as though he wasn't in control of his body any more; as though he was someone else. His blood blazed like fire in his veins, and his hands, not of his own volition, clenched into fists; fists that almost seemed to _hunger_ for violence, for carnage, for blood. And in his brain, there echoed the shouts of a raging, furious monster straining to break free; a monster that was him and yet was not him.

Jotaro wasn't sure how long it was until the screaming stopped, but when it did, he found himself still standing in the alley, with the bodies of the thugs scattered at his feet, some with twisted limbs, many bloodied. His fists were still clenched tightly to the point where it was painful, and the harsh pants that escaped his hoarse throat as he struggled to stabilise his breathing, his heart feeling as though it was about to explode.

Dazed, he looked around, disbelief clouding his eyes as he took in the state of the bodies. There was no way it could have been him, right? It couldn't be...

But even as his conscious tried to deny it, he could feel, deep inside him, another consciousness stirring beside his own, a spirit that ached and longed to be free and sate its hungry fists.

 _Not today,_ _ **evil spirit,**_ Jotaro thought bitterly as he set off determinedly in the direction of the nearest police station. _Not ever._

* * *

A.N.: ... Yeah, reading this over again, I think it's become very apparent to me that I've been reading the Toriko manga a bit too much recently. I made Star Platinum seem like NEO. But hey, if you were a fighting spirit cooped up while there was a fight going on outside, you'd probably be a little stir-crazy too.


End file.
